


Kitchen Nightmares

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unsafe Sex, unconventional lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt: AU Where Yassen is a well known chef. He's so good with knives that the waiters joke he used to be an assassin or mobster. Alex accidentally breaks something expensive and Yassen keeps him after service to make him work off his new debt.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92
Collections: Alex Rider Kinkmeme





	Kitchen Nightmares

Straight out of catering college, Alex Rider had been floored to land a job in the kitchen of one of the most celebrated chefs in London. 

Yassen Gregorovich was a notorious perfectionist, and while other chefs might have been tempted to open up a string of restaurants under the auspices of their name, he had remained loyally in the kitchen he’d started out in. While the ownership of the restaurant and name on the door might have read Rothman’s, everybody knew the reason there was a six month waiting list for a table was entirely down to the chef.

On his first day Alex was nearly throwing up with nerves. Gregorovich had a reputation for more than his culinary skills. While some chefs were liable to shout and curse and throw their weight around he was known for a terrifyingly icy intensity that could be brought to bear on any hapless underling, critic or rival. There were also more worrying rumours, although if he had ever really had connections to the Russian mob, he was making no comment. 

The kitchen crew were a motley bunch, most with an interesting collection of scars and tattoos and known by a variety of alarming nicknames. Yassen’s sous chef was an enormous man known only as Wolf, although he had a loud laugh and a ready smile and Alex liked him immediately. He also appeared to be the only one who could get away with calling Yassen by his first name.

Alex was relieved to receive barely more than an appraising glance from Gregorovich himself, and was placed in the care of another commis chef, Tom. He was Alex’s age, and lively with it. He had a woolly hat perched on his head, and when Gregorovich came prowling down the line to see how the new blood was getting on, he stopped and stared at it critically. 

Tom’s face went beet-red, but he stood his ground.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that unhygienic thing?” Yassen said coldly. “I distinctly remember saying I wouldn’t tell you again.”

“Yes, well, I took that as a plus.” 

Yassen studied him for a second, then reached out, plucked the hat from Tom’s head and tossed it over his shoulder into a gas flame. He walked off, leaving a frantic scrabble behind him as people pulled it out again and stamped out the flames on the floor. 

“You can’t do that!” Tom wailed. “That hat’s got sentimental value!”

“Then you should have done as you were told, yes?” Yassen called back, without looking round.

“Can he do that?” Alex whispered, shocked, as Tom flicked sadly at the charred wool.

“Look at it this way, this is the most prestigious kitchen in the country,” Tom sighed. “He could have thrown _me_ in there and I’d still have said yes chef.”

Alex burst out laughing. 

–

Alex had imagined he’d start on barely more than kitchen porter duties, but to his surprise he was given a sauce station to work. It was simple enough in theory but tricky in practice, having to juggle multiple pans for different orders and making sure nothing curdled, split or burned. 

At the end of his first shift he had blisters on his feet and palms, three fresh burns on his right hand and was splattered from head to toe in dried sauce splashes.

Tom looked him up and down and sniggered. “You look like a bukkake victim.”

Across the room Yassen glanced in their direction, and if Alex had had the energy left to be embarrassed he’d have wanted the floor to swallow him up. As it was he just grinned weakly, and wiped congealing béchamel off his cheek.

–

He almost made it through the first week without a major disaster. The hours were long and gruelling and Alex spent nearly all his downtime in exhausted sleep, but slowly his blisters were turning into calluses, his stamina was improving along with his vocabulary of swear words, and he had been neither fired nor punched, both things he had witnessed happen to other people in the five days he’d been working there.

The kitchen crew that had looked so alarming to his sheltered eyes at first were now becoming firm friends, and his initial fear of being verbally or physically abused – he _knew_ what went on in some kitchens – had proved groundless. He was able, willing and a hard worker, and knew both when to keep his mouth shut and when to answer back, which meant he found he fitted in surprisingly well. 

Whether it was because he felt comfortable enough to relax finally and stopped concentrating, or simply because he was so damn tired that he couldn’t think straight, that night Alex found himself staring into a pan thinking that the sauce he’d made what felt like a thousand times already just didn’t look right. 

He tasted it cautiously and frowned. It didn’t taste horrible, but it also didn’t taste like it should. He picked up the container he’d grabbed from the fridge and sniffed, then licked a dab off his finger.

Fuck. He’d used sour cream by mistake, no wonder it didn’t taste right. 

Alex stared into the sauce with rising panic. What should he do? He didn’t have time to start from scratch, the order was nearly ready. Maybe if he stirred in something else – added the proper cream, maybe more salt to disguise it? 

Whether it was the sudden air of frantic activity that drew attention to him, or Yassen could just smell trouble like a shark scenting blood, suddenly Alex discovered the chef standing right behind him and yelped.

He stood aside meekly as Yassen selected a clean teaspoon and sampled the sauce. It wasn’t unusual, he would make random checks on everyone including Wolf, but Alex’s brief fantasy that Yassen would somehow declare the sauce miraculously improved was quickly dashed by the look on his face. 

“What have you done to this?”

Alex opened his mouth, then hesitated. The temptation was to lie, but - 

“I used sour cream instead of double.”

Yassen sucked his teeth, making a face. “That would explain it.” He dropped the teaspoon into the middle of the pan. “Start again. You screw up that badly, you start again. Understand? Always.”

“But now it’ll be out of sequence with the rest of the order,” Alex blurted. He could almost feel the rest of the kitchen crew edging away from the potential blast zone, but he stood his ground.

“Then everything starts again,” Yassen explained with a heavy patience. “All of it. The whole order. And maybe everybody hates you. But the food? The food is correct. Yes?”

Alex swallowed. “Yes chef.”

Off to the side Tom made an involuntary noise, then looked like he wanted to hide under the sink when Yassen looked round at him.

“Problem?” Yassen enquired, in a dangerously pleasant tone.

“When I fucked up the sauce you put me on dishwashing for a week!”

“When I asked you what you’d done to it you said you didn’t know. Which tells me you’re either a liar or an idiot. This boy?” He waved a dismissive hand at Alex. “He may be an idiot, but he is an honest one. There is hope for him.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Alex objected before he could stop himself. He immediately bit his lip, horrified, but Yassen just gave him a tired look.

“Did you fuck up the sauce?”

“...yes.”

“What are you?”

“An idiot,” Alex conceded reluctantly. 

“Thank you.” Yassen walked away and Alex stuck his tongue out at his retreating back.

“I _saw_ that.”

Alex nearly swallowed his tongue then stuck his finger up at Tom who was nearly choking with silent laughter. 

At the end of what proved to be a long and tiring service but with thankfully no more disasters, Wolf took him aside. “You want my advice? Which you probably don’t, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. Best thing you can do is keep your head down, listen and learn. Gregorovich might be a bastard but he’s not unfair. If he thinks you’ve got potential he’ll give you a second chance. Don’t let one fuck up get you down, we’ve all been there.” 

–

For the next couple of weeks Alex did exactly that. He worked hard, listened hard, and even received one or two grudging grunts of approval from Gregorovich, which the rest of the crew were quick to tell him amounted to fulsome and excessive praise. 

He was moved around to get experience of different stations, and found his favourite job was assisting the dessert chef, a woman with bright blue hair and more piercings than Alex was strictly comfortable knowing about. But the confections of fruit and cream and caramel that left the kitchen were so beautiful that Alex was captivated, and despite the fact that his role was little more than chopping endless fruit, he was proud to say he’d had a hand in them.

A lot of the staff had their own jealously guarded knife sets, and the one that was the envy of all of them belonged to Gregorovich, a roll of exquisitely sharp knives that rarely left his sight. 

Alex found himself staring at them longingly sometimes, the thin, wicked blades that moved so deftly in Yassen’s fingers. How quickly could he chop these bloody apples if he could just borrow one? But not even Wolf got to use them, Yassen even washed them himself, and Alex reluctantly conceded it would have to remain a daydream.

Many of the desserts were served in a range of lead crystal bowls and glasses, and Alex found himself stacking them late one night, one of the last people left in the kitchen.

He’d just balanced the last one carefully on the shelf when there was a loud crack, a nail shot out of the wall and pinged past his ear, and Alex watched in horror as the whole shelf pulled away from the wall and shed its load of expensive glassware in slow motion onto the floor.

The crash brought everyone running, most of whom backed away again in horror. Alex looked up, face white, to find Gregorovich staring at him.

“It just broke,” Alex said hoarsely, standing amidst sherds of devastation.

“You overloaded it,” Yassen said coldly. “You should have known a shelf that thin wouldn’t take the weight of all of them. Why didn’t you put some in the cupboard?”

“I...”

“Clean it up. It will have to come out of your wages.” Yassen walked off, and Alex went numbly to find a broom. He hadn’t been fired, which was one thing. But he could only guess what such high-end glassware had been worth, or would cost to replace. His wages were a pittance, the prestige of the kitchen had been worth taking the job, but prestige wouldn’t pay the rent on his bedsit. He assumed they’d let him pay it off in instalments. He certainly didn’t think a single wage packet would be enough to cover it.

By the time he’d finished clearing up, he and Yassen were the only people left in the place. He put the broom away, washed his hands, and went to hang up his apron tiredly. 

“All done?”

Alex jumped. Yassen had a habit of sneaking up on you. He nodded, with a tired sigh. “I’m going to be paying this off for the rest of my life.”

Yassen looked at him speculatively, leaning against the door frame. “There is another option,” he said slowly, examining his fingernails. 

“What? Anything,” Alex said quickly.

“I could pay it for you. You could – owe me instead.”

Alex blinked. “And – what would that entail?” he asked cautiously, visions of becoming a drugs mule for the Russian mob floating through his head. 

Yassen stepped closer and cupped Alex’s face in his hand, stroking a thumb over his cheek. “What do you think?” 

Alex abruptly caught on, and swallowed hard. “Oh. Fuck.” 

“Quick way to pay off the debt, no? Clean the slate.”

“Uh. You’re serious?”

“I am.” Yassen gave him a cold smile. “No one needs to know. Everyone has gone home.”

“You mean _now_?” Alex’s voice rose in pitch. “Here?”

“Why not?” 

“Oh Christ.” Alex stepped back reflexively, his shoulders hit the wall behind him and he jumped. Yassen followed, crowding him in, close enough to feel the warmth of him – but other than the brief hand on Alex’s face he hadn’t touched him yet. Plausible deniability if Alex made a complaint. If Alex agreed to this it would arguably be on him. 

Presumably Yassen would let him walk away if he so chose – but then he’d have to pay off the cost of the glassware. He’d be reduced to eating beans on toast for _years_. And it wasn’t as if Yassen was unattractive. Alex had in fact spent a certain amount of time fantasising about what the chef might be like in bed. He just hadn’t imagined it happening quite like this.

Yassen was waiting for his answer, watching the thoughts flitting across Alex’s face. 

Alex abruptly made up his mind, took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn’t as if he was a virgin, and it would presumably be over relatively quickly. Quicker than it would take him to pay off the debt, anyway.

He wondered if Yassen would kiss him, but apparently he intended to keep things practical.

“Take down your trousers. Turn around, and bend over the counter.” 

Fingers shaking, Alex did as he was told. There was something oddly arousing about being ordered about like this, and the fact Yassen was clearly intending to fuck him with most of their clothes still on was somehow even more so. 

Pants round his ankles, Alex obediently leaned forward over the worktop and listened to Yassen unzip his own trousers behind him.

There was always a dish of soft butter left out for sauces, half melted in the heat of the kitchen. Yassen reached out and scooped up a thickly glutinous handful, and Alex abruptly realised what he meant to do with it.

“Oh God.” 

He felt the head of Yassen’s cock between his cheeks, slippery with the warm butter. It felt obscene and demeaning and Alex screwed his eyes shut as Yassen pushed inside him. He clearly hadn’t bothered with a condom and Alex hadn’t thought to ask. Too late now. It added an extra layer of guilt to what he was doing, and Alex was ashamed by how hard it made him.

Yassen was buried to the balls, hands on Alex’s hips in a bruising hold as he started thrusting in and out of him. Alex lowered his forehead onto his arms and rocked with the force of it, trying not to think about anyone walking in on them. Yassen was thick and hard inside him, and he could feel greasy globs of butter sliding down his thighs as they moved. Alex wished he could reach himself, but he was sprawled too far over the counter.

“Please,” he choked out, face burning but too far gone to care. “Touch me. I need you to touch me.”

For a moment he thought Yassen was going to ignore him, but then he reached around in front of Alex and wrapped a hand around his rigid cock.

Alex groaned, the feeling of being fucked and jerked off at the same time was almost painfully good. Yassen’s fingers were still slippery from the butter and Alex thrust into his grip, pounding forward to the rhythm of Yassen’s hips.

He was going to come all over the floor he realised, the shame tempered by the knowledge he would almost certainly have to clean it up afterwards. He couldn’t see Yassen doing it. 

Yassen had been fucking him at a punishing pace for some time, and Alex was sore and dizzy and so, so close. 

“Alex.” It was the first time Yassen had spoken since they’d started, and Alex was almost surprised to hear that Yassen sounded as wrecked as he felt himself. “Do you want me to pull out?”

Alex felt a frisson of excitement shudder through him. The thought of it was guiltily appealing, and he gave in to the reckless urge. “No.”

“You want me to come inside you?” 

“God.”

“Say it.” Yassen tangled a hand in Alex’s hair and pushed his head down, fucking into him harder than ever.

“Come – come inside me,” Alex gulped. “I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it. Oh _fuck_.” He clawed fruitlessly at the counter as Yassen took him at his word and unloaded pulse after pulse deep into his guts. 

The sudden unfamiliar sensation of thick warm semen gushing between his legs sent Alex over the edge and he came hard, spurting his own release wildly all over the vinyl floor.

Yassen pulled out and wiped himself on a convenient tea-towel before adjusting his clothing. Alex sagged back against the counter, feeling weak at the knees.

“So - we’re all square, right?” Alex made himself ask, uncertain if Yassen was intending to string this out for multiple occasions, and wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry when Yassen nodded.

“Yes. I will settle things with Rothman, for the cost of the damage.”

“Would’ve been cheaper to hire an escort,” Alex muttered.

Yassen looked at him with amusement. “But not as satisfying.” He glanced round at the mess, and tutted. “I assume I can leave you to clean up here?”

Alex sighed, accepting his fate and too tired to argue. “Yes chef.”

–

The following morning Alex walked into the kitchen with snakes in his belly. Every time he thought about what had happened the night before his face flushed with something that wasn’t quite shame but was too awkward to be entirely pleasure. How could he even face Yassen after something like that? More to the point how could he go on working at a counter he’d been so recently fucked over? But hiding wasn’t an option, and he was hardly going to jack in one of the most coveted jobs in London, so he tied on his apron like armour and held his head up high. It wasn’t as if anyone knew, after all.

When Yassen walked in a few minutes after him, Alex looked up ready to smile and say good morning – but Yassen walked past him like Alex simply wasn’t there, without so much as a glance in his direction.

Alex’s heart sank to his boots. Part of him had been harbouring fantasies that Yassen would want a reprise, or even that they might start seeing each other – but Yassen had blanked him as coldly as a tabloid food critic, and Alex felt abruptly sick. It was slowly dawning on him that he’d simply been used.

The morning passed in a blur of misery, and Alex was fairly sure the quality he was turning out was substandard, but fortunately Yassen hadn’t lingered near his bench even once.

“Here, you alright?” Tom asked in a low voice, leaning across from the salad station. “Did Gregorovich give you a bollocking last night or something? You’ve flinched every time he’s walked past.”

Alex opened and closed his mouth a few times, rendered temporarily speechless by Tom’s choice of words. Before he could form a suitable reply, Tom had shuffled closer and whispered, “He didn’t try and take advantage of you did he?”

Alex blinked. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, that old trick with the shelf.”

“Trick?” Alex echoed hoarsely. 

Tom tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Not the first time it’s happened, put it that way. I’m just saying. Don’t let him push you into anything, yeah?”

“Thanks for the tip,” Alex said weakly. He felt sick, and then faint, and then white hot with fury.

He marched across the kitchen to where Gregorovich was preparing steaks and tapped him on the shoulder before he could lose his nerve, aware of every eye in the kitchen upon him. You didn’t interrupt Gregorovich when he was concentrating and you didn’t _ever_ touch him uninvited. 

Alex figured – well he _had_ been invited, hadn’t he? He really didn’t want to do this in front of everyone, it would get him fired for sure this time, but also he knew if he had to keep it inside until the end of service he might explode.

Yassen glanced at him irritably. “What is it?” 

“Can I have a word please, chef?” Alex said tightly. 

Yassen made an impatient noise and gestured towards the storeroom. It was traditionally the space used by the kitchen for private conversations, having thicker walls than the tiny office, and no window looking in from the workspace.

Alex went in, and then experienced a flutter of fear as Yassen came in behind him and closed the door. It was cramped in here, and they were too close, and he wondered if he’d miscalculated. But Yassen merely leaned back against the door and folded his arms. 

“Well?”

“You set me up,” Alex said through lips that felt almost numb. 

“What are you talking about?”

“The shelf. Tom said you’d done it before. Fixed it to collapse.”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look surprised, or guilty, or apologetic, but neither did he look smug or pleased with himself, which was just as well or Alex might not have been responsible for his actions. 

“You were still the one who loaded it. Not my fault if you didn’t check it was up to the job. Did you tell Tom you fucked away your debt then?” Yassen enquired.

“No. He doesn’t know.” Alex went red, and hated himself for it. “You tricked me!” he accused again, angrily. 

“Prove it.” Yassen shrugged. “I didn’t force you to go through with it. It was your choice to take the whore’s way out.”

Alex took a physical step backwards, as if he’d been slapped. “I could report you.”

“Who to? If you think Mrs Rothman will care, you don’t know her well enough.”

“I hate you.”

“Does that mean we’re done here?” Yassen asked, sounding bored. 

“I’m not leaving.” 

“Stay in the cupboard and sulk then. See if I care.”

“What? No, I didn’t mean in here,” Alex spluttered, wondering how the hell Yassen still managed to make him so tongue-tied. “I meant – I’m not resigning. You don’t get rid of me that easily.”

Yassen shook his head. “Alex what you do or don’t do is really of supreme indifference to me. Now if you don’t mind I have a lunch service to supervise.”

He opened the door and walked out, leaving Alex feeling breathless and shaken. He didn’t know what he’d expected. An apology? To be fired? Either one would have at least meant what had happened last night had held some kind of significance to the Russian. To have gone to the trouble of engineering a scenario to trap Alex into having sex with him suggested a certain amount of investment in the outcome. Had he really lost interest again so quickly now that he’d had him? Or – had Alex been no good?

Alex found he was blinking back tears. He scrubbed his face with his apron angrily and set his shoulders. He was damned if he’d let Yassen see he’d been affected by it. He’d stay, and he’d learn, and one day he’d be a better and more famous chef than Yassen was. It was a long term revenge, but right now it was all Alex could think of.

–

The mood in the kitchen over the next few weeks was a frosty one. Yassen was more irritable than usual even by his standards, and everyone went about like they were walking on eggshells. Yassen barely spoke to Alex at all, and Alex returned the silent treatment tenfold, managing to imbue any unavoidable ‘yes chef’ with an intonation that managed to convey ‘fuck you’ so successfully that the rest of the kitchen started running a book on how long it would be before Alex got fired.

Everyone’s tempers frayed, to the extent that at the culmination of one blazing row Yassen actually fired Wolf.

Alex was distraught, feeling somehow guiltily like it was his fault, but Eagle the pastry chef patted him on the shoulder in passing. “It’ll be alright, you’ll see,” was all she said. 

Alex didn’t know what she meant, but the next morning he was astounded to see Wolf back at work as if nothing had happened. He appeared to be having an entirely amicable conversation with Yassen, and Alex snagged Eagle’s sleeve as she walked past. 

“Did Gregorovich give him his job back?”

She laughed. “Nah, Wolf just comes back, and they say no more about it. This’ll be about the fifth time, now.”

“Would he let anyone else he fired come back just like that?” Alex wondered. 

Eagle shrugged. “Nobody else has ever had the balls to try.”

It was, in a way, a comfort, and made an odd sort of sense. Since it had all happened, Alex had been living in a constant state of tension waiting for Yassen to if not fire him then at least be horrible to him. He’d expected to receive the worst duties, the minimum of teaching and probably daily humiliation. Instead Yassen hadn’t really treated him any differently than he had before, other than trying to find every way possible to avoid actually having to talk to him. 

Perversely, this made Alex start craving his attention. He hated the idea he’d been so easily dismissed from Yassen’s mind, but he also had the sneaking suspicion that he might not have been. Yassen, as a rule, didn’t hold grudges and would happily talk to anyone he’d had a row with previously. Apart from Alex. Alex, he continued to avoid, and consequently Alex became more and more annoyed and obsessed with him.

He wished the circumstances had been different. He wished Yassen had just _asked_. Alex knew with a guilty self-disgust that he’d have bent over willingly enough for the man. His pride refused to let him start privately wanking over him, but this just meant occasionally he dreamed about Yassen instead, and more than once woke up covered in his own sticky release. 

A month or so passed, by which time they were on grumpy but communicating terms again. This mostly meant that Yassen started criticising Alex’s work again, to the extent that Alex started to wish he was back on the silent treatment. 

It wasn’t even like he could complain – technically nothing Yassen ever pointed out was wrong or unfair, and Alex did want to improve – it was just he felt it could have been delivered in a kinder tone than that of a man chewing a wasp. 

“What the fuck do you call that?”

Alex swallowed down the urge to say ‘Gerald’, and looked up at him defensively. “It’s for the dauphinoise?”

“Not like that it isn’t. We’re aiming for high end, not fucking rustic. Start again.” Yassen swept the pile of sliced potatoes into the under-counter bin before Alex could protest, and walked off.

“Arsehole,” Alex muttered, slightly louder than he’d meant to.

“Chef Arsehole to you,” Yassen called back, without turning round.

“Mate, how are you not dead?” Tom hissed from the next bench. “If I’d said that he’d have skinned me alive.”

Alex shrugged. As much as he’d have liked to delude himself that Yassen still somehow favoured him, he suspected the truth was Yassen didn’t actually care if you swore at him, as long as your work was good. 

Except his plainly wasn’t, and now he was massively behind. 

The doors from the dining room swung open and a waitress stuck her head in.

“Chef! Mrs Rothman wants to see you.”

Yassen scowled. “What, now? Does she know what fucking time it is?”

The waitress gestured helplessly, and ducked back out of the door as Yassen hurled a tea-towel in her general direction. 

He untied his apron and stalked out of the room. Alex looked over at Tom with the light of devilry in his eyes as an idea occurred to him.

“He wants dainty slices? I’m going to use his knife.”

“Alex!” Tom stared at him, simultaneously impressed and horrified. “He’ll _kill_ you.” 

Alex wasn’t entirely sure that was hyperbole. Using another chef’s knives without permission was grounds for murder at the best of times, and some of the rumours about Yassen involved actual dead bodies. But he was also still pissed at him, and rationalised that if Yassen wanted him to chop better he could hardly say no. Besides, he owed him.

“He’ll never know,” Alex said giddily. “I’ll have it washed and back before he notices.”

“Your funeral.”

Alex waited for a moment when everyone was busy dealing with their own prep and slipped across to the cloth bundle on Yassen’s station. He unlaced it and drew out the large chef’s knife. It felt beautifully balanced in his hand, and the thought that Yassen’s hand had been curled around the same grip for so many years gave him a strange flush.

The blade was worn almost thin, and looked so sharp it could cut sunlight. Alex hurried back to his own bench and got to work.

The knife was in another league from the basic kitchen-provided ones Alex had been using so far, gliding through the veg like a dream. 

Gliding much too easily, in fact. Unused to the weight and the sharpness of the knife, Alex pressed too hard, the chunk of potato he was slicing slipped, and suddenly the blade crunched through something that wasn’t vegetable matter.

Alex froze. Strangely, there was no pain yet, but he was far, far too terrified to look down in case he saw his fingers lying severed on the chopping board.

“Jesus Christ!” The yell came from Tom, who’d seen blood dripping off the edge of the counter. The noise broke Alex’s paralysis and his legs gave way, leaving him crumpled in the corner between the units, clutching his hand to his chest and staring unblinkingly ahead, too shocked to process what he’d done.

“Let me see.”

Alex faintly registered the familiar voice, registered that the crowd gathering around him had scattered like frightened mice, registered that Yassen sounded absolutely furious, but they were all fleeting impressions, all he could do was clutch his hand, still too afraid to look.

There was a hand on his shoulder, firm but not rough, and Yassen crouched beside him. "Let me see," he insisted again, and such was the authority in his voice that Alex uncurled a little and let Yassen look. It was better, perhaps, if he looked, Alex thought. That way Alex didn’t have to.

"Bring me ice, now," Yassen snapped at those still watching. "And a clean towel, and the gauze from the kit." 

Things duly appeared and Yassen wrapped Alex's hand in a frozen cocoon, put a plastic bag over the top and let Alex cradle it against himself again. Alex dimly thought that at least his fingers must be still attached or Yassen would just have put them in the ice bucket, and a hysterical laugh bubbled out of him. 

Yassen gave him a sharp look, and pulled him to his feet. 

"Should we call an ambulance?" somebody asked, and they probably should have done it already but everyone had been too stunned.

The floor was slick with blood, and Alex was starting to shake.

"No time," said Yassen shortly, and then Alex was being pushed out of the kitchen door and into Yassen's car.

All Alex could think was that despite the careful bandaging he was getting blood on Yassen's eye-wateringly expensive upholstery, but Yassen said nothing, just put his foot down and drove faster than Alex had ever seen anyone do before, especially in traffic.

When they reach the emergency department Yassen practically carried him in and they were both soaked in enough blood by this point that they jumped the queue straight into triage.

Waiting for the nurse Alex felt like he was going to pass out and leant against Yassen because it was that or slide to the floor. Yassen unexpectedly put an arm around him.

"Am I going to lose my fingers?" Alex mumbled, not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.

"You'd better bloody not, I need you capable of holding a knife and you prep too slowly as it is," came the gruff response, and Alex smiled. He'd been afraid of Yassen, had even hated him for a while, but somehow there was no-one else he'd rather have been with right now. Yassen hadn't panicked, he'd just taken decisive action and if Alex did lose his fingers it wouldn't be anyone’s fault but his own.

Alex was seen, had it all re-dressed and was told he would be taken straight into surgery. ‘Straight in’ turned out to mean another wait and he was glad Yassen was still there, not really saying anything, but resolutely staying beside him. Alex wondered who was dealing with evening service. Would Yassen be in trouble for deserting the kitchen? 

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Yassen looked round at him. “You're an idiot,” he said, but the arm still around Alex's shoulders briefly tightened in a hug. 

When Alex came out of surgery three hours later, fingers freshly stitched and bandaged and woozy with anaesthetic, Yassen was still there. Alex hadn't expected him to be, had wondered what he would do, how he would get back. But Yassen merely took him out to the car and drove him home.

Not, however, to Alex's poky little bedsit, but to Yassen's expensive flat overlooking the river.

He found Alex clean clothes and settled him on the couch with a blanket, before sitting down hesitantly next to him.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex was on the verge of falling asleep, but that was surprising enough to make him look up. He hadn't heard Yassen apologise once the whole time he'd known him.

“What for?”

“Before. Setting you up like that.”

Alex regarded him fuzzily. “It was unkind. But it was also stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

Alex shook his head. “You didn't need to blackmail me. I'd have – if you’d just asked, I'd have...” he was interrupted by a yawn. 

Yassen sighed. “You’re exhausted. It’s late. We should go to bed.” He caught Alex’s look. “I have a spare room.”

“Oh.” Alex’s expression turned to one of almost disappointment and Yassen looked amused. 

“You can come in with me if you like. I hardly thought you would want to, after what I did.”

“I could just use some company right now,” Alex admitted quietly. The thought of lying alone in a strange bed was not appealing.

“Come on then.” Yassen took him into his bedroom, and helped him undress again. Alex’s hand was swathed in bandages and hard to manoeuvre. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Kind’ve aches. I guess it’ll be worse in the morning.”

“You’ve got painkillers at least.” 

“Have I?” Alex blinked at him, and Yassen laughed.

“Yes. They gave you some to bring home, remember?” He studied Alex’s flushed and confused face, and tousled his hair. “Apparently you don’t. They’re on the counter, if you need them. Sleep now.”

Alex lay down beside him gratefully, feeling overwhelmed and sore but also somehow perfectly safe.

–

In the morning Alex woke blearily to the sight of Yassen getting dressed.

“Yassen?”

“Oh, you’re awake. I was going to leave you a note. I need to go into work. Wolf will have kept things on an even keel, but I need to check in.” 

“I should go.” Alex struggled to sit up, but Yassen shook his head. “Stay where you are. Rest properly. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He leaned over and kissed Alex on the forehead. “Help yourself to anything if you get hungry.”

Yassen was gone before Alex could say anything. He lay back, feeling somewhat dazed. Had Yassen really just kissed him goodbye?

Alex dozed most of the morning then took an awkward shower, having to hold one hand out of the water. His own clothes had been washed and dried and were waiting for him neatly folded on the sofa and he put them on gratefully. 

He should go home. Except – he felt woozy still, and the painkillers he’d taken on an empty stomach were making him feel decidedly odd. He should probably eat something, but even though he’d been given permission, rooting in Yassen’s fridge and cupboards felt like an invasion of privacy. 

Instead he drank a glass of water and lay down on the sofa under the blanket Yassen had given him the night before. He’d just rest his head for a while, Alex thought. Then he’d call a cab.

–

He was woken some time later by Yassen coming in, and sat up guiltily.

“Hello. Sorry.”

“What for this time?” Yassen smiled at him, which came as something of a surprise. Alex was still waiting to be shouted at, for taking the knife. He hoped to God in all the confusion Yassen had got it back. Was he waiting for Alex to feel better before he yelled at him? Alex would rather just get it over with. 

“I meant to go home.”

“No rush. You hungry?” Yassen had brought a large portion of the lunch special back with him, and heated it up for them both while Alex lay there watching him sleepily. 

They ate side by side on the sofa, and afterwards Alex screwed up his courage to ask the thing that had been making him anxious all day.

“Are you going to fire me?”

“Why would I do that?” Yassen sounded genuinely surprised, and Alex relaxed a fraction. 

“I took your knife.”

“Yes, well. I imagine you’ve learned your lesson in that regard. Hardly any point in punishing you further.”

“Really?” Alex looked at him with sudden hope, and Yassen smiled slightly.

“I really do have a terrible reputation don’t I?”

“Mostly one you’ve cultivated,” Alex pointed out darkly, and to his surprise Yassen laughed.

“Maybe. How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, considering.” Alex looked down at his bandaged hand. “I’m going to have one hell of a scar aren’t I?”

“Do you still want to be a chef?”

“Yes.”

“Then it won’t be the last one you get.” Yassen spread out his own hands to display an impressive network of scars. 

“I never knew it was such a dangerous profession.”

“I trained under someone who would throw knives when we screwed up,” Yassen said matter-of-factly. “If we really screwed up, he would heat them in the gas flame first.”

“Jesus.” Alex paled. “Suddenly a week on washing up duty doesn’t seem so bad.”

Yassen smiled. “I’ve never made you wash up. Yet.”

“No.” Alex looked at him. “Why not?” Knowing he’d made mistakes, however careful he’d been.

“You have a certain ability. And you listen. You’ve never made the same mistake twice. And also you have determination. Even when I fucked you over, you didn’t run away. I was – impressed.”

“You couldn’t have told me that?”

“I’m not here to mollycoddle my staff.”

“Is that all I am?” Alex studied him closely. He didn’t think Yassen made a habit of snuggling with the kitchen crew on his sofa. Then again – maybe he did. Tom had implied Alex hadn’t been the first. The sudden uncertainly must have shown in his face, because Yassen reached out and took Alex’s good hand into his.

“No. I suppose I have to concede you’re not,” Yassen sighed. 

“It actually hurts you doesn’t it?” Alex smiled. “To admit you might actually like somebody?”

“It is a bad idea to bring relationships into the kitchen. Not to mention the fact you are practically young enough to be my son. I thought it was for the best if I just squashed any attachment you might have been thinking about forming.”

Alex shook his head. “What are you?”

Yassen looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “An idiot?”

“An idiot,” Alex nodded. “But an idiot that should kiss me.”

“If we do this – you’ll get no preferential treatment,” Yassen warned. “In fact I’ll probably be harder on you than the others.”

“As long as that’s in the bedroom as well as the kitchen,” Alex murmured, and Yassen bit down on a laugh.

“If that’s the way you want it.” He drew Alex into his arms and kissed him. It was a good kiss, that left Alex breathless and decidedly stiffer than when they’d started. 

“Do you have to go back for evening service?” Alex asked.

“Not for a couple of hours,” Yassen smiled. “How would you feel about an afternoon service instead?” He ran a suggestive hand up Alex’s thigh, making him laugh.

“I’m not sure how much I’m capable of with this,” he murmured, holding up his bandaged hand.

“That’s alright. I have two hands. And a feeling I have a lot to make up for. You just lie back and let me do the work for once.”

Alex smiled broadly. 

“Yes, chef.”

–


End file.
